Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
In a way, my plan is as brilliant as it is dangerous. I get to help Mara by giving her a steady, stable income, and her presence will ensure I keep my hands to myself—literally—which will keep both Fyodor and media-hungry harlots like Veronika off my back.
My unexpected brilliance sees me stroking my cock faster. It reacts as if it is Mara’s fingers circling my shaft, jacking me off like she is hungry for my cum.
I’m seconds from release and moaning like there aren’t a dozen guests in my den, drinking my liquor and partying like I took the lead in the polls instead of a dive.
The fact I’m stroking my cock instead of mulling over votes still a year from being cast is already lurid, but doing it here, in a bathroom, blows my mind.
Only a week ago, if you had asked me about the possibility of me getting myself off, I would have deemed it impossible. My fear of touch isn’t solely fixated on strangers. It is, as a whole, for both strangers and me.
Yet here I am, stroking my dick for the second time today, in a shower of all places.
My shock should have my cock sitting limp against my thigh. It shouldn’t be rocking in and out of my fist at a pace quick enough for release to be imminent. But since my focus is on her, the woman with eyes that seemingly can see through to my soul, my balls pull in close to my body as my cock pulsates with want.
Mara’s scent, pert tits, and fuckable body feature heavily over the next several minutes. I think about how she looked up at me when my hand slid inside her panties and how she moaned my name when my thumb found her clit. I think about her smell and how I used her shampoo as bodywash for days to ensure I didn’t lose it.
“Fuck.”
I’m right there, on the brink of release, picturing how she’ll moan my name when I take her bare for the first time.
It won’t be with a stutter.
Her voice will be crystal clear and without fear.
“Oh…”
As I strangle my cock, desperate for a quick release so I can get back to the party before Mara leaves, my spare hand braces against the sparkling clean tiles of my office bathroom. My hips piston as I think of all the ways I could take her without the restraints my hookups are never without.
Her tits will bounce when I take her hard and fast, and her lips will be cracked and swollen from the number of kisses we’ll share.
She’ll taste so good.
Moan so hard.
She will fuck me as much as I will fuck her.
And I won’t punish her for her sneaky touches, scold her, or end our exchange when her desire to touch grows too rampant for her to ignore.
I could encourage them. That’s how unhinged she makes me. How unique. She makes me think I can have my cake and eat it too.
The theory wouldn’t be in limbo if she weren’t a mother.
That is the only thing holding me back from going gung-ho on Rafael’s suggestion to make Mara my wife.
It may make me seem like an ass, but you can’t judge me until you’ve walked a day in my shoes.
My childhood was… fuck.
My cock softens.
“No.”
I thrust my hips faster, trying to strangle both my dick and my thoughts back into submission. I need this release more than my lungs need air. I won’t have a single lucid thought if I don’t release the lusty deluge Mara’s presence forever causes.
Nothing works.
My cock is as limp as it was meant to be only moments ago, and I’ve washed too much of Mara’s scent off my skin for it to convince my head into a second hiatus.
Frustrated, I throw my fist into the tile before relishing the snippet of pain it rewards me with. I’m not a sadist by any means, but pain is a salutary reminder of my goals and why I strive so hard to achieve them.
With my shoulders hanging as flaccid as my dick, I switch off the faucet and exit the shower. Blood is pissing out of my hand from where it split while colliding with the tiles. It dots the vanity sink with droplets of crimson and has my thoughts shifting back to my youth.
There was so much blood then, so much gore, yet the silence was the most painful part.
It still haunts me now.
Talking about silence, the noise booming from the den before I entered the bathroom no longer exists when I dress before entering the central part of my office to search for something to clog the graze on my hand. It soaked through a hand towel in less than a minute, so I don’t see cotton swabs doing any better.